Winter of Grace

by Kate Constable

  ‘You never told me,’ I said.

  Mum ran her fingers through her hair; she looked shattered, as if she’d stayed up all night. ‘I didn’t want you to hate them,’ she said wearily.

  ‘That’s why we never see them. It’s not because Grandpa’s too sick to travel!’

  Mum forced a smile. ‘It’s not as bad as it was. I took you there to meet them once, do you remember?’

  ‘When I was five – and you had those massive arguments.’

  ‘They can’t accept that I decided to raise you alone. They can’t accept that I don’t have a husband. They can’t accept that I’ve left the church, that I don’t believe in their God any more, that I don’t need Him.’

  ‘Or them,’ I said.

  Mum looked surprised. ‘Or them,’ she repeated, as if she’d never thought of that before.

  I said numbly, ‘So now it’s just – Christmas cards.’

  ‘I did the right thing,’ Mum said suddenly. She raised her eyes to me and I saw an expression I’d never seen before, an uncertainty, a vulnerability. It frightened me. Mum was always so sure of herself, so determined, so clear. I always pretended that it bugged me, but deep down I needed her that way. I didn’t want to know about Mum’s doubts, her mistakes. I had to believe she knew exactly what she was doing. She was my mum; she was all I had; she was the shield that stood between me and the world. I needed her to be stronger than me, wiser, and in control.

  ‘Of course you did the right thing!’ I cried, and so I didn’t have to see that vulnerability in her face, I threw myself across the room. I hugged her, and she hugged me back hard. We hardly ever hugged any more. I could tell that she was crying. After a minute she gently but firmly pushed me away. Mum hated anyone to see her being emotional, even me.

  ‘Now do you understand why I don’t want you mixed up with a church?’ she said quietly.

  I nodded; I didn’t trust myself to speak. But already my mind was busy forming arguments: Northside isn’t like that. They are all about love, and acceptance, and gathering people in. Jay and Elliot and Pastor Matt, Juliet and Adam and Shanelle wouldn’t have turned you and me away. Elliot says Jesus has forgiven all our sins, right? And God thinks I’m special, Jay said so. And I can feel it inside, the power of God’s love.

  ‘You’d better get ready for school,’ said Mum.

  But I lingered in the doorway. ‘Mum? About Gran and Grandpa, did you ever… did you ever forgive them?’

  ‘They did what they thought was right,’ said Mum wearily.

  ‘For both of us. They meant it for the best. I’ve thought about this for a long time, and I do believe now, they acted out of love.’

  ‘But can you forgive them?’

  Mum didn’t say anything; then after a minute she gave her head a quick, violent shake. She said in a low voice, ‘Never.’

  As I stood in the shower, I thought about God and religion. How could a mother and father throw out their own daughter, reject their own innocent unborn grandchild, just because they believed God thought it was wrong to have sex before you were married? How could anyone be so sure they knew what God wanted, and be so scared of Him, that they’d put the rules of their religion before love of their own child?

  I knew Mum’s story was supposed to make me doubt God, supposed to put me off Northside. But weirdly, it didn’t. Northside’s God, the God I’d met last night, couldn’t be the same as the God of the Children of Jesus, whoever they were. They’d got it wrong; they’d muddled things up. That was their problem. Our God, mine and Jay’s and Elliot’s, wasn’t like that.

  In fact, in a strange way, knowing about Mum’s family made me more convinced than ever that I was meant to go to Northside, meant to know God better. Maybe faith was in my blood, or something.

  I imagined telling Stella, ‘Now that I know I’m descended from a family of religious freaks, I’m even more curious to observe them up close.’

  Even a week ago, I could have said that to Stella, and she’d have laughed. But I wasn’t sure she’d find it funny now.

  STELLA TEXTED ME on Friday night to see if I could walk Tim on Saturday morning instead of Sunday; Scarlet wanted to swap. I texted back OK with a spasm of relief. Because, of course if I went to church on Sunday, I couldn’t walk with Stella, and I’d dreaded telling her. I dreaded telling Mum, too; I kept putting it off, and the longer I waited, the worse I felt.

  I kept having the same bad dream: I was in the middle of the war, crouching in a ruined house, like the ones on the news every night, while bombs whistled overhead. Explosions shook the ground, more violent each time. Someone was with me, but I couldn’t see who. They put their lips close to my ear, and through the whine of the bombs and the explosions, they breathed, ‘It’s coming …’ And in the dream I felt a rush of wind, as if all the oxygen was sucked from the air, and I knew that this was it, the end.

  I’d wake up sweating, my heart banging in my chest. And I’d tell myself it was just a dream, that I was safe.

  But the people who lived in the cities under fire, the soldiers on both sides, couldn’t wake up. I prayed for them; all over the world, people prayed. But the war didn’t stop.

  Saturday morning was cold and clear as glass. The river reflected the trees and the empty sky. Stella hurled a stick for Tim and he bounded after it, barking joyfully, almost tripping over his own stumpy legs in his excitement.

  ‘Stell,’ I said. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘It’s about Mum.’ And I told her the story of the Children of Jesus, and Grandpa and Gran and Mum and me.

  ‘Wow,’ said Stella. ‘That’s hardcore.’ She squeezed my arm. ‘I hate to say it, but what else would you expect from God-botherers.’

  I said, ‘Mmm.’ Tim brought back the stick and I flung it away again.

  ‘You’re not going back to that church, are you? Bridie, you’re kidding me. Even now you know what they’re like?’

  ‘They’re not the same people. That was Brisbane. That was sixteen years ago. Northside’s not like that.’ I almost said, God’s not like that.

  Stella flicked back her hair. ‘Just tell me one thing. Are you after Jay, or not?’

  ‘Not. I told you already.’

  ‘It’s okay if you are. I’m not interested any more.’

  ‘Gee, thanks. So I can have your rejects, can I?’

  ‘That’s not what I meant!’

  Then I remembered. ‘Elliot said the other night that Jay might lose his eye.’

  Stella stopped in her tracks. ‘Oh no, seriously? God, that’s awful. Poor Jay.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t care about him any more?’

  ‘I can still be sorry about him going blind without wanting to be his girlfriend,’ snapped Stella.

  ‘Yeah, okay,’ I said after a second. ‘Sorry.’

  Stella shot me a sidelong glance. ‘So if you’re not in love with Jay … you’re not in love with Jesus, are you?’

  ‘I hardly know Jesus,’ I said uncomfortably. Though it was true, I wanted to get to know Him better. Jay talked about Jesus as if He was a real person, as if He was still around, someone he could to talk to any time. I didn’t feel like that yet, but I was starting to wish I did. It sounded so comforting – and exciting too, to have a direct connection with this amazing, loving person.

  Stella’s voice broke in on my thoughts. ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘Get what?’

  ‘How people can just believe whatever the priest or whoever tells them. It’s all about being told what to think, not thinking for yourself. It’s in the Bible – well then, it must be true.’ She gave a sarcastic snort. ‘Have they actually read the Bible? Have you?’

  ‘Bits of it,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah? Have you found the part where it says you should be put to death for working on the Sabbath, or being rude to your parents? Or the part that forbids you to wear clothes made out of two different kinds of cloth? It’s all in there. These peopl
e just pick out the bits that suit them and ignore the bits that don’t. When it’s about condemning gay people, then it’s God’s word and we have to obey. But I bet Pastor Matt never preaches about giving all his money away, or throwing the shopkeepers out of the temple, does he?’

  ‘How would you know?’ I said, my temper rising. ‘It’s easy for you to stand there and abuse them, but you don’t know anything about it!’

  ‘Oh, I know.’ Stella threw the stick into the middle of the oval and Tim raced away. ‘You’re too smart for all this, Bridie. Church is for thick people, people who want to be told what to think. Lisa was smart enough to get out; you should be smart enough not to join in the first place.’

  ‘I will decide for myself,’ I said. ‘And that means I won’t stop going just because you and Mum tell me to. No one from Northside’s forcing me into anything. You’re the only people trying to tell me what to think.’

  Stella backed off. ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ I jammed my hands into my pockets.

  Stella whistled for Tim and we walked on in silence. When we’d crossed the second bridge, Stella said, ‘Coming back for breakfast?’

  I shook my head. ‘Got an essay to write.’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’ Stella swished Tim’s stick in the damp grass.

  ‘Tuesday morning, then?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  She didn’t ask me if I was going to Northside tomorrow.

  I guess it was pretty clear that I was. The more Stella and Mum tried to talk me out of getting to know God, the more determined I was to keep on exploring Him for myself. If God really had chosen me, that was more important than what Stella or Mum thought. This could be the most important thing that ever happened to me. I couldn’t just walk away – not even for them.

  The next morning, I caught the train to Northside by myself. Mum was still in bed when I left, so I didn’t have to explain to her, though I wasn’t looking forward to that conversation when I got home.

  As soon as I arrived, Chelsea came up and started chatting, and then Jay came over. We all sat together with Adam and Ryan and Shanelle and the others, and we clapped and sang and prayed together.

  It was as if Pastor Matt knew exactly what I’d been going through. He spoke about the difficult, unfashionable path of following Christ. He said we should try to understand those who jeered or attacked us, because deep down they were afraid of the truth. They were afraid to take the leap that we had taken, to leave their old lives behind. But we should stretch out our hands to them and encourage them to make the leap too, and they would find, just as we had, that they could fly.

  A light went on inside my head. Of course Stella was angry with me. I’d always been her faithful shadow; we’d done everything together; I’d let her lead me everywhere. Now for the first time, I was striking out on my own. Of course she was angry; she was jealous! She was scared God would take me away from her.

  And I understood Mum. She wanted to believe that her parents loved her, that they’d acted out of love. So she blamed the church for what her parents had done. She needed to believe that it wasn’t their fault.

  Christianity was for thick people, was it, Stella? I felt pretty wise this morning, buoyed with joy, my new friends on either side and the warmth of God’s blessing upon me. And when Pastor Matt prayed, I prayed for Mum and Stella, and I forgave them. A glow bloomed inside me, solemn and large, brave and defiant and noble.

  It turned out Chelsea and her mum Lorraine lived not far from my place, so they gave me a lift home. Lorraine said she’d drive me every week if I liked, and to youth group, too. And I thought how wrong Stella was about these people, how nice and friendly and good they were. And now I was one of them, and I was proud.

  When I got home, Mum was doing the Sunday crossword.

  ‘Were you at the Kincaids?’ she said, and I think she would have preferred it if I’d lied and said yes, but I stood straight and tall and told the truth.

  Armed with my new courage, my new understanding, I let the waves of her anger break over me. I didn’t fight back, and at last Mum ran out of energy. She couldn’t break me; she couldn’t defeat the power of God’s love. At last she sank onto the couch and gazed at me with a kind of bewilderment.

  ‘Are you even listening to me?’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’ I forgive you.

  Her shoulders sagged. ‘You know how I feel. I don’t want to go on having this argument.’

  ‘No, Mum.’ I braced myself for the next round. But it seemed that Mum had nothing more to say. I stared, amazed that it was so easy. It was true, with God on your side, anything was possible. I felt a lump in my throat. ‘I love you, Mum.’

  She looked up sharply in case I was making fun of her; but I was totally sincere. With an effort she said, ‘I love you, too.’

  ‘Can I go now?’

  Mum opened her mouth, then she sighed and shrugged, and I escaped to my room. I could hardly wait to pray, to give my thanks.

  It rained overnight, and on Tuesday morning the twigs of the bare trees were beaded with water. Stella whacked a branch with a stick, and rain splattered over us.

  ‘You go to church on Sunday?’

  ‘Yep.’

  Stella nodded. I was all prepared to defend myself, and to forgive her, too, but she didn’t give me a chance. Instead she said abruptly, ‘I had the worst day yesterday.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’m in big trouble.’ There was a certain satisfaction in her voice, as if she’d been planning this for a while. ‘And it’s kind of your fault.’

  ‘My fault?’

  ‘You got me thinking about this stuff.’ She threw back her hair. ‘At St Marg’s, every Monday there’s an assembly for the whole school, and they like the seniors to give talks. It might be about a charity in Africa, or someone might read an inspirational poem, or talk about a saint or something.’ Stella pulled a face. ‘So yesterday I got up and I talked about Why I Am an Atheist.’

  I gave a gasp of laughter. ‘Stella!

  ’ ‘Are you offended?’ Stella walked backward to scrutinise my face. ‘I was scared to tell you, now that you’re a God-botherer.’

  I didn’t believe that; my guess was that Stella thought up this whole stunt specifically to shock me – and St Marg’s, of course. And then when I was offended, she could say I was one of those daggy, humourless Christians who couldn’t take a joke. ‘That was cheeky,’ I said mildly.

  Stella looked slightly disappointed. ‘Yeah, it was. Everyone was so paralysed with shock that I finished the whole speech before someone dragged me off. Then it was straight to Miss Bernard’s office; I was there for hours.’

  We paused while Stella picked up Tim’s poo and tied the bag. She said, ‘Nana reckons I wouldn’t have done it if you were around. She said “Bridie would have talked you out of it. Bridie always keeps you under control.”’

  I was startled. I’d thought a lot about what I’d lost when Stella changed schools, but not so much about what Stella might have lost.

  ‘So did they give you detention, or what?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, no, they don’t do detention at St Marg’s; it’s all about “Restorative Resolution”. Today I’m supposed to apologise to the whole school for not taking their faith seriously.’ Stella rolled her eyes. ‘Bernie said she wouldn’t have minded if she thought I was sincere, but she was really cross because I was only stirring.’

  Bernie knows Stella pretty well, I thought. ‘And were you?’

  Stella shrugged. ‘Bit of both. Anyway, they can shove their apology. What’s the worst they can do, expel me? I wish they would!’

  ‘Is that why you did it?’ I stopped in the middle of the path, and a cyclist dinged his bell and swooped impatiently around us.

  ‘It’s not about you, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘You’re not the centre of my universe, Bridie Vandenberg.’

  ‘You’re jealous, because I’v
e found something new, something of my own, new friends.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Do you mean your new invisible friend Jesus? Or that pack of brain-dead zombie Christians? I wouldn’t hang out with them if you paid me.’

  ‘That is the dumbest generalisation I ever heard. If they were gay or – or black or Muslim, you wouldn’t say that. But because they’re Christians, it’s okay to vilify them?’

  Stella tossed back her hair. ‘Seriously, Bridie, if you turn into a Christian, I don’t think I can be your friend any more.’

  Tim pointed his little sharp snout up at me and barked anxiously; he knew there was trouble.

  ‘Well, it’s unfortunate you feel like that,’ I said coldly. ‘Because I am a Christian.’

  Stella’s face was white in the early sunlight. ‘You’re choosing them over me?’

  ‘I’m choosing God,’ I said. ‘How you feel about it is up to you.’

  We stared at each other. And I turned around and crossed back over the bridge. I went home the way we’d come, and left her to finish the circuit on her own.

  FOR THE NEXT few weeks, I lived like a double agent. The two halves of my existence didn’t touch each other.

  On Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights, I was a Northsider; the rest of the week, at school and at home, I never mentioned it. But more and more, Northside felt like the place my real life happened. It was the place I could relax, the only place I could talk about God, the place my soul felt free. The only people who truly understood the importance of that belonged to Northside, and now I belonged there, too.

  Mum and I never discussed my absences. There was a tense church-shaped gulf between us, but we both acted like if we ignored it for long enough, it would eventually go away.

  I didn’t turn up to walk Tim any more, and Stella didn’t ring or text me, so that was that. For a long time I expected her to make a move. It hurt that she could throw away all our years of friendship – I almost said over something so trivial but it wasn’t trivial at all. What to believe, who to believe in, the kind of person you want to be: nothing’s more important than that.